


The Sun's Moons

by Anonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Face-Sitting, Farting, Gross, M/M, Rimming, musk, mysophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: See tags and be warned.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	The Sun's Moons

The Doman heir’s vision reeled as he was slammed into a stone wall, letting out a groan as his lithe form slumped to the floor. An aching arm raised to touch the back of his head, now throbbing in pain.

When he opened his eyes, his blurry vision took in the sight of the furious Oronir khan, his thick and heavy cloak falling behind him to the stone floor, exposing his incredibly muscular torso and chest. His boots thudded loudly against the floor as he approached the fallen lord, his scowl upturning into an insidious grin when he stood before him.

“Do you realize the error of your ways now, Doman?” That smooth, deep voice condescended him. Hien was hardly aware of his surroundings anymore, but even with the pain shooting through him distracting him, the sight of the Au Ra man towering over him sparked fear in the previously cocky young man.

“You will disrespect the Sun no longer, boy,” Magnai hissed. Hien winced at his tone, squinting his eyes shut and preparing to be struck yet again by the Xaela.

However, his eyes opened when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps in front of him, and what he saw was the khan turning around and immediately backing towards him.

Hien’s eyes widened in panic, but before he could try and scramble his aching body off the floor, it was too late. The Au Ra’s protrusive, muscled backside was shoved roughly into his face, sandwiching his handsome features near perfectly into the seam of well-worn breeches.

The prince tried to cry out, but the khan was already widening his gate and arching his back, thoroughly smothering and swallowing the other man’s head into his rear, proud tail draping over his shoulder.

“You are going to learn today, Doman,” Magnai laughed wiggling his broad hips to situate the prince’s face as deeply into his posterior as possible. “Soon, you will be _elated_ to give The Sun the tribute he deserves. _Every_ part of him.”

Hien tried to scream, desperate to escape, for someone to hear him and save him from his humiliating plight. However, this was the biggest mistake he could have possibly made, as he soon found it to be a waste of the only fresh air he had remaining.

His bruised legs kicked and shuffled against the floor, his wounded body squirming, deprived of oxygen, but _desperate_ not to breathe. He was a prince, a warrior, a man filled with pride. He would _not _take in air tainted by the stench of another man’s backside!

The Khan was undaunted, however. He grinned, delighting in the futile struggles of the Doman behind him. His pointless attempts to fight would only make breaking him that much more satisfying, the thought alone making his tail twitch excitedly.

Of course, eventually Hien had to breathe, and breathe he did. Near the point of asphyxiation, he sucked in a muffled, desperation fueled airfull straight out of the seat of his captor’s trousers. Immediately, the overpowering stench made him reel, his struggle intensifying to the Oronir’s sick amusement.

Hien’s senses were assaulted by a thick and overwhelming haze of sweat and raw masculine power, burning at his lungs and nearly causing his eyes to water. Clearly, the Khan assailing him had neglecting to bathe that day. Perhaps longer based on the magnitude of the smell emanating from his ass.

The prince was forced to endure the odor of every hunt, battle, and exertion the Xaela experienced, all of them deeply imprinted in the fabric of his worn out breeches. The fabric smearing into his face was damp with sweat, making his stomach churn in disgust almost more than the offensive stink he was being forced to huff.

Hien’s bruised and straining arms weakly reached up to push at Magnai’s muscled thighs, only to be snatched up by the Khan. His tormentor laughed, pulling forward on his aching hands and rocking his hips, rolling his powerful ass back into the humiliated hyur’s face.

“Savor this honor, Doman,” he taunted him, relishing how easily he was overpowering the proud samurai. “This is the glory of the Sun.”

Hien’s squirming began to diminish, his breathing becoming more labored. His face was burning and flushed, both from the rough cloth being smeared into it, and the overwhelming shame at his situation. His mind was spinning, his senses beginning to dim.

Before long, all the Doman Heir could focus on was his breathing. More specifically, the virile, potent stench of the masculine Xaela warrior dominating him. He dreaded every breath with the remaining faculty he had, desperate to escape the smothering stench of his attacker’s unwashed ass.

An all-consuming heat began to permeate through his battered form. Through the fogginess shadowing his thoughts, Hien realized it was a sensation resembling one he was all too familiar with as a young male. He was feeling _desire._

With his depleting clarity of mind, the prince could not argue or refute his thoughts. He could only groan in shame, the sound muffled by his attacker’s smothering asscheeks, his hips twisting and twitching as his hands grasped at nothing.

Before he realized it, all his thoughts were being consumed by this man. The power he was expressing over him, his dominance, the _smell_ of him.

Naturally, the narcissistic Khan took notice of this change.

Filled with sadistic glee, he undulated his hips one last time into his victim’s face, before pulling away from him. Magnai stepped back from the wall, turning to kneel in front of his disheveled captive with an arrogant sneer.

“Do you submit to the sun now, Doman?”

Hien stared blankly at the Xaela man, his senses so completely clouded that it took him more than a moment to even realize he was no longer firmly wedged into the clothed crack of his ass. Magnai’s grin only widened as he noticed the delay in his answer.

A hand cupping his chin roughly, and a few staggered breaths of untainted air roused what little sense remained in the samurai.

With a weak, but defiant glare, he gave his rebuttal in a strained voice.

“Never.”

Magnai, however, was entirely undeterred. Even aside from the obvious decline in his will, the proud Doman’s wit was completely gone. He couldn’t help but smugly think back to his attitude when they first spoke, his condescension and mockery of their tradition.

How far he’d already fallen, and it was going to be even more satisfying bringing him lower.

Grabbing him roughly by the hair, Magnai wrested his near limp plaything to the floor, immediately moving to stand over him.

“I suppose I should be impressed you still have fight in you,” he spoke down to the hyur, his ever-present grin still on his face. “We’ll have to see how much more you can take.”

Hien, still dizzied by his manhandling, opened his eyes just in time to see the broad form of his attacker descending upon him. This time, however, he actually got a clear view of the feature that had been used to torment him. The immaculate, muscular ass that was entirely overtaking him lowered steadily towards his face, and despite his remaining dignity crying at him to move, to roll away, to do _anything _Hien could only stare at it in wonder.

In a wide squat, Magnai made himself comfortable, shifting and adjusting his posterior on the prince’s face. With his back arched and his tail nested in the Doman’s voluminous hair splayed out on the floor, the Khan felt more powerful than even when he was on his throne.

He was actually slightly surprised to feel the hyur already sniffing and burrowing into his crack, having overestimated what defiance remained in him. Regardless, there would be none left at all, before long.

Hien was entirely preoccupied with the cheeks eclipsing him. He made no effort to even assume a more comfortable position on the floor. He could only resume passively accepting the musk eroding away at his being.

He was so taken in by the Khan’s rear, he hardly notice his large form tensing above him, his back curving further ever so slightly. Then, in the middle of his steady rhythmic breathing, a reverberating sound accompanied by a rumbling vibration right against his helpless face, brought him back to cruel reality.

In his unprepared state, Hien had the misfortune of directly inhaling the Xaela’s gas as soon as it was freshly expelled, and he immediately began to wretch and cough. The dense, warm, heavy odor of a protein rich diet rushed into him, briefly reigniting the fire of his resistance.

He couldn’t. Not _this. _

He thrashed and squirmed underneath the heavy weight above him, tried to push at the broad hips pinning him down. His remaining sanity pushed him to fight with all he had, to spare himself at least this fate, but his strength was well exhausted.

The Oronir didn’t even have to hold his arms down anymore, the weight of his ass sufficient enough to quell the samurai’s futile struggle. He simply sat triumphantly on his new throne, biding his time for prince’s need to breathe once more.

“This is the full might of Azim,” he spoke proudly, pressing down hard with his ass to keep his victim’s face locked in place. “Take it in, Doman. Accept it.”

Hien groaned pathetically, the smell refusing to dissipate around him. His hands feebly gripped at the bronzed skin of his tormentor, nails failing to even dig into it with his weakness. His head spun, the world around him seeming to fade out as he was forced to helplessly huff hot and stale air. The Khan’s gas refused to dissipate, lingering in the fabric separating the prince’s face from his bare ass, somehow making it worse as it mixed and mingled with the stench already worn into his breeches.

Before his first fart had even totally dispersed, Magnai was already prepared to unleash another. With a guttural grunt, he pushed out rapid, smaller bursts of gas into the helpless hyur’s stunned face, sighing in relief and allowing more of his weight to press onto him.

“That’s it, _Doman_,” he hissed, tail flicking excitedly through the fallen prince’s hair “_Breathe_. Take in the Sun. **Submit **to the will of Azim.”

Hien groaned, his grip on bronzed, scaled skin going slack as more of the foul air washed over him, blanketing his face in suffocating heat. He could no longer even bring himself to sputter, now only passively inhaling the virile stench he was being assaulted with.

“Let it fill you,” Magnai’s smooth, deep voice commanded him, almost encouraging in a cruel way. A rough hand moved to suddenly cup his clothed crotch, gripping it firmly and making the prince cry out.

With every inhale, he only felt more powerless. Magnai’s words echoed through him, but it wasn’t the Xaela’s voice that was compelling him to surrender. His own body betrayed him, hot and tense with arousal like a coiled spring. With every inhale of that masculine odor, the defiance in him grew weaker.

“Does it not smell good?” The Khan’s voice was becoming almost soft now, but still with a commanding edge. “You know it to be true. Allow yourself _revel_ in the Sun’s warmth.”

He punctuated his beckoning with yet another booming fart, purposefully rubbing against Hien’s needy cock through his pants. The prince gasped at the stimulation, simultaneously sucking in deeply the pungent and heated flatulence. He coughed yet again, but a shockwave of pleasure was moving through him, and his hazy mind was having trouble distinguishing whether the source was the hand on him, or the ass on his face.

“Do not resist,” Magnai commanded him, smoothing a calloused hand up and down his cock. At the same time, he rolled his hips, wiping his ass up and down the prince’s face, as if marking him with his stench and his flatulence. “Bask in the Sun. Feel him overtake you. _Let yourself go._”

When Hien’s squirming renewed, the stifled erection pushing against his hand, his hips rolling, told the Khan that this time, it wasn’t to escape. He had won.

With his insidious, cocky smirk still in place, Magnai raised his substantial weight off of the prince’s face just barely-not enough to grant him respite from the stench of his ass, but to give himself sufficient space to hastily and haphazardly shuck down his tight trousers. In his excitement, the Khan couldn’t be bothered to fully disrobe, leaving his breeches hugging his thighs.

Even in that brief moment, Hien could smell the hot, dank musk emanating from the freed crevice of the Xaela’s nude crack. His expression twisted in renewed disgust, and his stomach turned into a knot. Before he could even process this new layer of odor, however, his impatient attacker unceremoniously shoved his ass back down into his face.

Hien let out a muffle shriek, the protrusive cheeks of Magnai’s unclothed ass now entirely enveloping his helpless face. Muscular cheeks adhered himself on either side to those of his own face, slick with sweat and grease accumulated from life and war on the Steppe. The Au Ra’s weight forced him deep into his unwashed trench, his handsome features firmly wedged against the Warrior’s grimy, snug pucker.

With his first involuntary inhale out of the larger man’s crack, his body surged and recoiled as raw musk and unadulterated testosterone forced its way into his overloaded system. Hien’s eyes rolled in to the back of his head, the plethora of disgusting sensation leaving him completely overwhelmed. Pathetic whines left his smothered form, as he desperately tried to turn his head away from the unyielding embrace of Magna’s glutes.

Now, the Khan was no longer amused with his adversaries’ struggles. In his hot blooded impatience, Magnai had expected his opponent to have been fully broken, ready to submit and please his better. His confident grin morphed into an aggravated scowl.

“_Must you struggle until the bitter end?!_” He growled, teeth clenching in frustration. He needed release **now, **and this Lordling was going to give it to him one way or another. “If you will not submit to the Sun, then face the consequences!”

With the angered words of the Xaela atop him, Hien’s heart sank. He had enough faculty left in him to realize what the man’s threat meant, and he almost wished that he hadn’t. Regardless, it was too late for him.

Magnai’s stomach gurgled and rumbled, his snug hole flexing and puckering against his victim’s face. Preemptively grabbing on to the hyur’s arms, he pushed down on him forcefully before unleashing gut-wrenching fart into his face.

Hien cried out helplessly, the hot blast spraying from Magnai’s ass into his exposed face, with no layer of cloth to cushion him. The flatulence hit him with an almost explosive force, blowing warmth and musk and stink into his skin, against his trapped nose and mouth. The stench was incredibly intense, as if the festering air in his guts carried the finality of Magnai’s intent to break him.

There might have been some truth to that notion, as the foul heat descended into Hien’s lungs. His chest heaved, swimming with his tormentor’s scent, his musk, sweat, and farts all mixing together in a sinister cocktail. The hyur’s addled mind was fading further, pushed down and smothered by the musk infiltrating him, just as sure as Magnai’s ass in his face.

“Your will is forfeit!” Magnai bellowed above him, cock twitching with need. “Surrender to the Sun, and please him. There is no other choice.”

The hyur felt as if he was drowning in a fog of stink, warm and thick and heavy, entirely surrounding him. He was losing touch, the desperately pleading voice of his pride, his sanity, growing so quiet he could not even recognize it anymore. It was like the sea of Magnai’s musk, his farts, his everything, suffocated that part of him. The rest of his self.

His mind was whiting out. All he could think about was his aching erection, and the man sitting atop him. The Xaela was just so powerful, so masculine and commanding. And that _smell._ It was horrible. But he felt like he couldn’t resist it anymore, the allure it somehow enticed him with.

Magnai grew more impatient by the second. At this point, he cared not if the Doman enjoyed worshipping him, as he should. Now, he needed release. And if it took him an eternity, he would drag it out of this broken prince.

With an angry snarl, he let go of Hien’s arms, instead savagely threading calloused fingers into his hair. Still pressing down forcefully with his weight, he roughly tilted the angle of the samurai’s trapped face, rubbing the trapped sweat and filth covering his cheeks into his skin. His true purpose, however, was to align soft lips with his unwashed asshole, and he adjusted both of their positions until there was no space between either.

Hien shivered, the careless maneuvering bringing him somewhat back to reality. He became painfully aware of the hot, unclean pucker pushing against his mouth insistently, and his cock throbbed. Magnai’s angry erection throbbed, his moist asshole flexing and pulling on the hyur’s lips in the most heinous insinuation of a kiss, pre leaking out of him at the stimulation.

Pure instinct took over the prone, shattered Doman. His lips were sucked on by the Xaela’s hole, and he responded without even thinking by returning their embrace. As soon as his tongue slipped out against the wrinkled, hairless surface, a pained groan left his occupied mouth.

The taste was revolting. Bitter, earthly, terribly and obviously unclean. It shocked down his taste buds, overtaking his limited processing with the sensation. The grimy surface reflexively clenched at the sensation, moving against his tongue and painting it with more of the intense flavor, a guttural grunt coming from its owner.

Despite the repulsive taste filling his mouth, and the putrid filth coating his tongue, Hien could not stop himself from dragging it across the outer rim, feeling it suck against him. He by no means found the sharp, acrid taste to be enjoyable. The same could be said for the stink still replacing his intake of air. However, whether he was aware of it or not, his body was acting on pure compulsion, unable to act against the irresistible presence of this man.

Magnai moaned in appreciation, finally glad to partake in some pleasure of his own. Breaking down the Doman was gratifying, arousing, even. But the entire time, his body was aching with need, even if the process was left unfinished. For now, this would have to do. His pet would learn his place in good time.

“_Yes,” _Magnai hissed from above him, his hole clenching and tensing, beckoning that sweet tongue into its impure depths. “Give yourself to the Sun. **Serve.”**

The Xaela’s words were hardly even reaching Hien at this point. His mind was entirely consumed, his task the only focus he could muster with his system overwhelmed by potent musk and flavors assaulting him. As his tongue passed up and down his captor’s hole, working away at the built on grime of its surface, the tip managed to snag against the center ever so slightly. Grunting at the sensation, a spontaneous and reactionary flex drew the unwilling appendage in.

Both men, if one of them could even be called that at this point, moaned nearly in unison. Pleasure surged through Magnai, his pucker squeezing down on the trapped tip of Hien’s lounge as if it was intent on preventing escape. The Doman, meanwhile, was reeling and recoiling from the pungent taste just inside of the Warrior’s anus.

Even this deep in, slime and filth affixed itself to his helpless tongue, the flavor uniquely awful to the outer rim of Magna’s sweaty hole. A muffle cry escape him, but as usual, the Xaela was uncaring to his plight.

Not to be denied this sordid pleasure, he widened his legs, opening up his smothering cheeks slightly over Hien’s face. However, despite granting the hyur only slight respite from his stench, this allowed Magnai’s hole to open more, and gave him more room to thrust himself down onto the enticing tongue.

Hien’s eyes scrunched shut, his face wrinkling in pure disgust. The Au Ra’s unforgiving weight forced his tongue deeper into him, drawing more lewd grunts and pleasurable groans out of the domineering man. Unable to even bring himself to try and wrest his head away, Hien’s unfortunately wet muscle slid surprisingly easily into the near untouched, tight sphincter.

All too quickly his lips were firmly pressed into the spread ring, his tongue as deep inside as it could go. All at once, Hien’s senses caught up with him. He was violated with menagerie of gruesome filth, slime and mucus rubbing off on his tongue. The taste was vivid, raw, disgusting, and somehow rife with pure masculinity in a way his vanquished conscious could not comprehend. Try as he might to escape it, the slick, wet walls of Magnai’s ass flexed and pulsed rhythmically against his tastebuds, smearing his fluids and built up grime into them.

The Khan sat still for a brief moment, overtaken by the sudden rush of pleasure. His cock twitched every time his muscles squeezed down on that delectably slick tongue, shivers running down his spine. Even if he hadn’t been able to make the proud prince realize what an honor he was being bestowed, this carnal sensation was enough for it to be worth it. Whether he enjoyed it or not, he was still paying tribute to his better, and the thought alone sent arousal shooting through his abuser.

“Relish this,” Magnai spoke for the first time in moments, his voice breathy with lust. “Savor the taste of the Sun, of his maleness.” He was speaking only for his own sake now, Hien more than too far gone in the moment to understand him. He was fine with that though. 

Biting down on a thin lip, the Xaela reached back with both hands, firmly grasping his muscled cheeks. Spreading himself as open as he could, he began to lewdly rock his hips atop the prince’s face. As that helpless tongue slid against his insides, he hissed in gratification, his rear uncaringly bumping into the samurai’s face under him.

Naturally, Hien’s situation only worsened. Not only did the Khan’s movement further impress the filth of his insides upon his tongue, his saliva was also beginning to accumulate not only in his mouth, but also within the Xaela’s passage. As the snug, slippery hole moved up and down his tongue, his own spit was running back into his mouth, tainted thoroughly with the sour and oppressive flavor of unclean ass. Instinctively, the strangled appendage made futile attempts to wriggle and squirm itself free, only further pleasing and stimulating the clutching, covetous muscles around it.

The fallen prince lay on the floor hopelessly, only occasionally making displeased and defeated whines underneath the towering male above him. If he had any faculty left within him, he would have realized the true hopelessness of his situation. All he was aware of now, was the ever present, smothering musk surrounding him, and the vulgar flavor of the ass that produced it. He was the plaything of a man more powerful than he was, and whether he consciously accepted it or not, it was reality.

No longer even thinking of reverence from his victim, Magnai was entirely lost in his lust. He bounced and squirmed excitedly on the hyur’s extended tongue, his loosening hole still grasping and pulling on it in his pleasure. He couldn’t be bothered to talk down to his throne anymore, too preoccupied with that delightful mouth affixed to his ass.

Releasing his meaty cheeks and allowing them to rudely slap back against the hyur’s face, finally, Magnai firmly grasped his cock. He jerked it up and down feverishly, his shaft more than lubricated with built up pre from denying himself during the entire affair. A hot flush lit up under the dark scales of his cheeks, animalistic sounds reverberating deep in his chest.

His hips moved up and down more and more quickly, his huge, heavy ass impacting Hien’s face harder with every motion. The defeated prince could barely even cry out in pained, pitiful, muffled yelps drawing from him as his face was being bruised and crushed under the Warrior’s weight.

Having keyed himself up so thoroughly from the moment he attacked his rival, it did not take Magnai long at all to reach his peak. Ceasing his bouncing, he pushed himself down on his seat’s tongue, taking it in as deeply as he could. He gyrated his hips, focusing on the intense pleasure of the wet, soft penetration so far inside him.

With a deep, low groan, the Khan finally spilled, considerable amounts of pent up cum spurting onto Hien’s prone form. His asshole puckered wildly from the overwhelming pleasure, and in his lack of control, an unintended hot fart was released around the hyur’s tongue.

The sickening sensation exploding against him made Hien immediately gag and wretch, his body twisting in a desperate, reactionary need to escape. Magnai’s weight sank down onto him entirely in his coital lack of awareness, suffocating the panicked hyur with his sandwiching cheeks and warm gas.

The Xaela huffed and gasped for air, his entire being wracked by the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced. It was only when he felt the oxygen deprived struggles beneath him, did he come back down from his bliss.

His wits returning to him, Magnai caught the odor of his own fart as it wafted up to him, and he laughed cruelly when he realized what had happened.

“Consider that a gift, Doman,” he sneered, raising himself reluctantly off the tongue pleasuring him in his afterglow, his ass gripping it snug even as it slipped out.

Hien gasped for fresh air, the first he had experience it what felt like eons. As his tongue retracted into his mouth, he grimaced into disgust as the lingering flavor of Magnai’s filthy ass filled it.

Overwhelmingly pleased with himself, the Khan rose from the floor of his throne room, grinning down at the gasping husk of a man splayed out before him. His smile widened at the straining, throbbing erection trapped between his clothed legs.

Once his lungs were renewed with life giving air, Hien became acutely aware of his unattended arousal, and groaned with need, prompted a sadistic laugh from the man standing over him.

“Even when you deny yourself, you cannot resist the allure of the Sun,” Magnai sneered.

What was left of the Doman stared dumbfounded at his assailant, as he proceeded to gather his clothing as if nothing had happened. As if he wasn’t lying on the ground, face covered in sweat and funk from his unwashed ass, denied any release of his own.

“Prepare yourself, Doman,” Magnai called to him over his shoulder as he headed towards his quarters. “We will most certainly be doing this again before dusk.”

Hien only looked blankly at the Xaela speaking too him, vaguely aware of his words, but unable to give an answer of his own.

“We will continue today until you finally appreciate the _honor_ you have been bestowed,” he grinned with arrogance. “And you will learn to willingly and joyfully give yourself to the Sun.”

As the heavy door to the Khan’s personal chambers shut behind him, Hien’s exhausted, weakened form collapsed back onto the floor, the unholy taste of Magnai’s ass still fresh in his mouth, and his mind.


End file.
